Tales From The Inside

Chapter Five: Disillusionment

At this point in my life, I was moving away from home for the first time. All of my comfort-zones were four hours away and many of my friends were so busy starting their new lives that sometimes a phone call just had to be enough. None of this is necessarily new to a college freshman, but no matter how common it is, it doesn't retract from what a life-altering year that first year is. For me, for everyone. One of the hardest and scariest moments, is when you realize family and friends are just a support system. Your life, your decisions, your destiny, (for a lack of better word), is all your own. I remember being fascinated at not having to ask permission to go out late at night and fearing not waking up on time, as my mother was always around to wake me for school or whatever other activity I may have had going on. It was scary and new, but I was doing something different. It felt good to know what path I was going down, even if I was a little anxious. In high school, I had always been known as the "film kid". Now I was going to school with a hundred "film kids". It was actually very interesting to hear the same story come from every person. "I did the morning news." "Everyone asked my opinion on movies." "I played with a camera a lot." It was nice to have tons of people around that thought the same way as you. As cliche as it sounds, we were all weird. Art school has that reputation for a reason.

Walking down Main Street, the affectionate nickname for the main strip through the film school, I was excited to learn there was a Krispy Kreme and a Wachovia. ("A bank switch may be in order," was one of my first thoughts. "Danger! Danger! Where's the gym?" was my immediate second.) There were fancy street lights and everything just seemed, surreal. On the opposite side of the street was the backs of the sound stages, and what appeared to be a very shallow, and empty, swimming pool. Surely I was dreaming, but I was starting to feel the tiny surges of excitement in my stomach. It was really happening.



I soon found out that the sterile and plastic looking scenery on main street was an illusion. The Krispy Kreme, the Wachovia, the streetlights, and even the pool, that would later be known as the reflecting pool, was all in place for potential use for a movie. And I realized something that had been floating around my head since the job shadow, that I had signed into one of the most unreal worlds you could imagine. Where nothing is real and everything is just an illusion. The cardboard separating the Wachovia painted window and my professor's office made that painfully clear. And I started to wonder if it was the illusion I was after all along. Through the camera, you see what "they" want you to see. Once the street was stripped bare, would I still feel that excitement? This great package that I was getting, was it just as fake as the plastic street lamps? The excitement that I once felt, started slowly turning into dread, when in the first all-school meeting it was announced, "Many of you will leave before your first year is over. Statistically, your class of 85 will be 50 by the time you enter your third year." My dry mouth and racing mind pondered the water fountain, wondering if water would come out of it at all.

Of course, it was all metaphorical for me. In such an industry that I had always wanted to be accepted into, (always yearning to be on the other side of those barriers), I guess I was just scared that the reality would never live up to the dream. The possibility that my interest was only peaked due to the mysterious nature of the business was what I was most afraid of. It seems silly now, but my self-doubt ran deep. I am the type of person who likes to know what I will be doing tomorrow. I am a notorious "what-if"er. I just couldn't stop thinking that I had made a mistake by trying to enter this business.

I know, I know, "get a little self-confidence woman!" But it's scary. It's scary to "have it all figured out" or at least think you do. Because once you start down on that path, it's hard to turn around. There's no real room for, "Oops" and "Umm, I think I'm switching majors". As a person who loves to have choices, what the hell was I doing at film school?

Labels: disillusionment, fear of failure, film school

posted by ms bct @ 7:26 PM